


Hell in High Heels

by sparxwrites



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Foot Kink, High Heels, Lingerie, Non-Sexual Kink, Non-Sexual Submission, Other, Shoe Kink, Subspace, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3354071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lying's stood in the middle of their living room, arms above their head with hands linked together and back arched obscenely in a luxurious stretch. Backlit by the late afternoon light streaming through the window, catching golden on the cream and black of the silk robe casually draped over their shoulders, it’s enough to make Kirin freeze and stare half way through toeing off his shoes.</p>
<p>“Clothes off at the door,” they say, without turning round. “You got marks on the carpet last time, they took forever to get out. I won’t have that again.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell in High Heels

**Author's Note:**

> Links to the stuff described in the fic: [heels](http://eu.christianlouboutin.com/uk_en/shop/women/so-kate-patent.html) / [lingerie](http://creepyyeha.tumblr.com/post/108784254120/ahaveninaheartlessworld-ravish-me-set-by) / [robe](http://www.harrods.com/product/long-silk-kimono-robe/carine-gilson/000000000004609258?cat1=new-women&cat2=women-new-nightwear).

“Hello, honey, I’m home!”

It’s not his home, really, Kirin thinks, as he tugs the door of Lying’s apartment shut behind him. But he’s got a key, and an only slightly grudging invitation to come around whenever he wants, and he knows the phrase will annoy Lying. As far as he’s concerned, that’s is justification enough to use it.

He doesn’t get the irritated response he wants, though, because Lying’s a little busy.

They’re stood in the middle of their living room, arms above their head with hands linked together and back arched obscenely in a luxurious stretch. Backlit by the late afternoon light streaming through the window, catching golden on the cream and black of the silk robe casually draped over their shoulders, it’s enough to make Kirin freeze and stare half way through toeing off his shoes.

“Clothes off at the door,” they say, without turning round. “You got marks on the carpet last time, they took forever to get out. I won’t have that again.”

Shaking his head to try and clear it, Kirin looks down at the frayed, paint-spattered hems of his jeans, the smudged charcoal marks over the thighs from his most recent piece. His mouth twists ruefully – charcoal and Lying’s tendency for decorating with soft fabrics and the colour white is a very poor combination, he has to admit.

“Curtains are open,” he points out, but his fingers go to the buttons on his flannel shirt anyway and begin prying them open carefully, one by one. He shrugs out of it easily, grabs the back of the collar of his white t-shirt underneath and begins the process of squirming out of it.

“We’re ten floors up, Kirin.” Lying arches a little further, rolling up onto the balls of their feet and pushing their arms up further until the delicious ache spreads across their shoulders and down their spine. “I hardly think there are going to be peeping toms.”

Kirin just shrugs, still wrestling with his shirt where it’s caught on his chin. “Maybe someone’s very determined?” he suggests, voice a little muffled by the fabric rucked up around his mouth.

Dropping back down to flat feet a moment later, Lying lowers their arms and finally turns to scrutinise at Kirin. “Look at you,” they mutter, eyeing him critically and tutting at the scruff of his beard, at how rumpled his hair is, at the crumpled shirt by his feet. “An oversized mess, as per usual.” There’s affection laced through the insult, though, the sharp edges of it blunted by a small curl of their lips.

Finally managing to extricate himself from his t-shirt – wriggling his way out of it to reveal a soft stomach and broad chest, a trail of fuzz leading down to the waist of his jeans – Kirin laughs. “We can’t all be rich and well-dressed,” he points out, fiddling with the button on his jeans after discarding his t-shirt, before pushing them down around his knees and kicking his way out of them. “Although the beard needs a trim, I’ll grant you that.”

Lying holds up a hand when he slips thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, though, shaking their head. “Ah, no,” they say, faint distaste written across their face. “I have absolutely no desire to see your penis, thank you very much.” Rolling their shoulders, they make their way over to the leather sofa off to one side of the living room, and settle down onto it with a small sigh. “Nothing personal.”

Grinning, Kirin kicks the pile of discarded clothes to one side off the doormat. “None taken,” he says with a shrug, before padding across the hall into the lounge, wooden floors turning to plush white carpet underneath his bare feet. “Although it’s a very nice penis. You’re missing out.”

Lying snorts amusement, patting the side of their thigh absently. “Undoubtedly I am.”

Not even bothering to try and sit on the sofa, Kirin settles down on his knees at Lying’s feet with a quietly satisfied noise. “So this is how we’re playing it today, is it?” he asks, luxuriating in the feel of the the carpet brushing soft over his skin. “My liege,” he adds, lips twitching, resting his chin on Lying’s knee.

Rather than answering, Lying just smirks, flicking at Kirin’s nose for his insolence. “Safeword?” they ask, tilting his chin up with one finger.  
“Twilight,” says Kirin obediently, eyes fluttering when Lying's long nails scratch through his beard by way of reward. "Oh…"

He whines when the hand pulls away, and Lying's lips twitch. “Hush,” they say, ignoring the way Kirin pouts in favour of waving a hand towards the door to the bedroom. “There’s a new box in the wardrobe. Be a dear and go get it for me, would you?”

It’s not a request, and Kirin knows it. He shivers, dips his head, and goes to push himself to his feet – but stops when Lying catches his hair, tugs on it hard enough to make him bite his lip. “Uh!” they say, shaking their head. “No, no. Don’t do that.”

They let go of him after a second, and hum approval when he doesn’t try to get up again, instead rocking forward onto hands and knees. “Better,” they say, grinning, and swat at his arse as he begins to crawl. “ _Good_ boy. Much better.”

Watching Kirin go, they sigh when he’s finally out of the room, leaning back against the sofa and crossing their legs at the ankles. They run hands over their lap, smoothing out the creases in their silk robe and smiling when they feel the raised lines of their harness lingerie running underneath.

Lifting their hands to their shoulders, they smooth the silk there too, brushing at the robe to make sure it lies flat, a straight line from shoulder to elbow and elbow to sweeping sleeve. They run hands down their chest – feel the slight curve of their breasts, more raised lines of straps from their lingerie, the comparatively flat planes of their stomach – fussing with their robe until it lies flat, and the bow in the wide sash holding it closed is centered.

Distracted as they are, it takes a moment for them to notice Kirin on his knees in the doorway – still, staring quiet and transfixed at half-seen lines of lingerie through the silk and Lying’s hands as they casually explore their own body.

Sighing, Lying snaps their fingers and points at the floor in front of the sofa with a raised eyebrow. “You’re lovely, but you do have the most _terrible_ attention span,” they tell Kirin as he crawls the rest of the distance to them, one arm raised off the ground to cradle a box to his chest. “At least you managed to find what I asked.”

Kirin eventually makes it to Lying's feet, and kneels there, carefully offering the box to them. “Louboutins,” he says quietly, whistling lowly when Lying takes it and settles it on their lap. “Pricey.” Most of the clothing they own isn’t exactly cheap, he knows, but every time he’s re-reminded of Lying’s designer indulgences and what that says about their salary he can’t help but be slightly awed.

Lying ignores him in favour of opening the box, setting the lid to one side. “These heels are probably worth more than the monthly rent for your apartment,” they say calmly, carefully hooking two fingers into the back of one shoe and lifting it out of the box, letting it dangle from their fingertips. “And definitely worth more than your face, no matter how pretty it is. If you damage them, you _will_ be paying for them. Understand?”

They trail one immaculately-painted crimson nail down the side of Kirin’s face, tracing a white line of scratched skin behind it, and grin when he nods. “Excellent.” Shaking their hand a little, the shoe swinging like a pendulum, they offer if to Kirin. "Take it."

Kirin wraps careful, almost reverent hands around the patent leather, lifts the shoe off Lying's fingers as they hum approval of his delicacy. It’s almost comically small where it's cradled in his hands, shiny black and red-soled with an excessively large heel – a ridiculously small scrap of nothing for the obscene price they'd paid for the pair.

Fitting the shoe onto Lying's foot with just as much care as he'd shown taking it from their fingers, Kirin wraps a hand around their ankle and dips his head to kiss it. His lips are careful against Lying’s skin, even more so when they slide down to press against the patent leather of the shoe. Despite his care, he still leaves a lip-print there, distinct against the glossiness.

He freezes when Lying presses the flat of the shoe to his forehead, the heel pressed uncomfortably sharp against his cheek. “Did I ask you to do that?” they ask curiously, amused, pushing Kirin away oh-so-slowly. He whimpers, and they laugh. “I thought I’d already been over the value of patience with you.”

“Sorry-” gasps Kirin, mouth half-open and breath hitching in his chest when Lying's heel digs even further into the softness of his cheek. “I'm sorry-” He releases their ankle, exhaling slowly when they move their foot from his face.

They smile lazily, reaching out to scratch fingers through his hair by way of reward. “Better. Perhaps you _are_ learning.”

Kirin nods eagerly, presses up into their touch and sighs when they move their hand away. “I can learn,” he says, sounding somewhat wounded. “I'm very good at learning.”  
“Hmm.” Lying raises an eyebrow, and gestures at the shoe box, the other shoe still nestled inside. “Prove it, then. Do better this time.”

Eager to please, Kirin reaches into the box, unwrapping the layers of tissue paper from around the shoe, feeling it crinkle and crease beneath his fingers. He takes a moment to be amused by Lying's fastidious care – by the fact that they've re-wrapped these shoes after use for storage purposes – before he’s distracted by the slick shine of the patent leather under his hands.

He’s smudging marks over the shine of the shoe, he knows. Every place he touches is marked with small, streaky fingerprints, little swirls that fade slowly when he pulls his fingers away until they’re barely visible.

It makes him wince, and he catches Lying’s ankle as quickly as he can, lifts their foot just enough to slip the shoe onto it. They help him, pointing their toes so they slip easily into the shoe, smiling when Kirin finally fits it over their heel and releases them.

“Now,” says Lying, delicately pointing one foot and extending their leg until it's just in front of his chest. “ _Now_ you can touch.”

Kirin reaches out again, eagerly, cupping Lying's ankle in one hand and the other sliding up the red sole of the shoe to curl around it just in front of the heel. He leans forward to press his face against the side of Lying’s knee, trails lips slowly down their calf to their ankle. “ _God_ ,” he murmurs, kisses open-mouthed and hungry at the smooth softness there, hands careful and reverent against Lying’s skin.

“Not quite,” says Lying, lips twisting into something like a smile. “But close enough. Continue.” They love Kirin like this, on his knees and so focused in his worship that they may as well be an actual deity in his eyes. For someone so large, he’s surprisingly delicate when he wants to be – kisses small and precise, teeth tucked neatly out of the way, fingers soft around their leg and foot.

When Kirin’s lips finally move to trailing over the shoe, Lying leans back into the sofa, tilting their head back and spreading their arms over the back of it. “What a _good_ boy,” they say, sighing luxuriously and grinning at the ceiling.

Kirin groans with the praise, dragging his tongue flat across the shoe from the tip of the toe to the very back. Their fingers tighten infinitesimally for a moment, a small, reflexive twitch, and they press a kiss to the back of Lying’s ankle.

The slightest hint of teeth, though – a gentle, playful nip to the soft skin – gets him a swat on the head and a disapproving click, without Lying even looking down.

He’s more careful after that, lavishing attention on the heels and sole of the shoe and being very careful not to use a hint of teeth. Apparently, Lying isn’t in the mood for teasing. Kirin doesn’t mind, though, humming contentedly as he drags his mouth over every inch of skin and shoe he’s been given access to, happy to lose himself in the mindless, easy pleasure of his task.

After a few minutes leaving him to it, Lying looks down, curious as to exactly how much of a mess he’s made. There’s streaks left by Kirin’s tongue all over the patent leather, lip prints and fingerprints and a mess of saliva that makes them sigh, even as they watch him curl his tongue around the heel with a small noise of delight. They’re going to have to clean the shoes thoroughly after this, no doubt.

What’s rather more interesting than the mess Kirin’s made, though, is the way he’s shifted – legs pressed together, upper body hunched over his lap – and the pink flush that’s spread over his cheeks.

“ _Kirin_ ,” they say, in the disappointed tone of voice people generally reserve for young puppies who've peed on the carpet. Their nose wrinkles as they eye the bulge between his thighs, distaste written clearly on their face. “Really? _Really_?”

Flushing, Kirin presses his knees a little tighter together in a futile attempt to hide his arousal, and stares down at his lap. “I can't help it!” he says, voice defiant but small. “It's- it's not my fault-”

He breaks off, choking, when Lying settles a foot in his lap and presses the toe of one shoe against his crotch. Hunching over, he only just resists the urge to grab at Lying’s ankle, pull the foot away and protect himself – they wouldn’t appreciate that. “Lying-” he manages, words cutting out as a slight increase of pressure forces a whine out of him, teeth gritted.

Lying pulls their foot back, slowly and Kirin draws in a breath of relief – only to freeze when they rest the sole on his head instead.

“Down,” they say, sounding bored, pressing slowly and steadily until Kirin begins to bow towards the floor. He sinks down onto his forearms, letting his forehead touch the carpet and leaving his arse high in the air, spine a curved, downward slope. “Good boy.”

They stretch, yawning loudly, before standing up with one foot still on the back of Kirin’s head. Shrugging off their robe, they let it fall down onto the sofa with a rustle of silk that has Kirin twitching, trying to look up to catch a glimpse of them in just their lingerie. “ _Down_ ,” they repeat, louder and more firmly, steadily shifting their weight to the foot on his head until they’re balancing entirely on one leg.

Kirin trembles with the pressure of it, gasps and tries not to flinch with his eyes shut tight. “Lying-” he tries again, but this time it’s less a warning and more a plea.

Chuckling, Lying places a careful foot between his shoulder blades, pressing down slowly as they transfer their weight. “Hush,” they say, gently. “Be a good footstool and stop talking.” They take another step, and another, slowly making their way up the sloped curve and grinning at the way he groans every time their heels dig into skin and muscle.

Eventually, they reach their goal, balanced semi-precariously at the point where Kirin’s arse meets the small of his back. Tutting, they shift their weight back a little, making the heels dig in even further, and grin widely when he makes a strangled noise of discomfort, trembles beneath them. “Do stay still,” they say, regretting the fact that they can’t bend down to pet his hair without risking falling. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to take a tumble, and I’d be… very unhappy if that happened.”

Beneath them, Kirin’s shaking gradually slows, until it’s little more than a fine ripple across his shoulders as he gasps quietly into the carpet.

“Better,” murmurs Lying, satisfied. “Much better.” They count a minute in their head as they stand there, and then another – watch as Kirin’s gasping gets louder again, as he starts to flex his spine to try and ease the strain and pressure, as the tension in his shoulders builds even while it drains everywhere else – before finally moving, walking down the slope of his back again, treading his head into the carpet before stepping off.

Kirin whines softly at the sudden lack of pressure, lack of pain. Fingers brush a soft line down his spine, tracing the marks left by the heels, and he flinches, presses his face into the carpet to try and ground himself a little. “Oh,” he mumbles against the softness, flinches again with a sharp hiccup of sound when Lying places a flat thumb against one of the marks and bears down.

Sighing, Lying releases the pressure and crouches down next to him, curls gentle fingers around his upper arm. “Over,” they say, gently, tugging and smiling when Kirin moves with the motion so easily, rolling over onto his back. “Oh, look at you…”

They brush a thumb over his cheek, delighted by the haziness in his eyes, the way his mouth’s gone soft and half-open. “Look at you.” They run a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp, and their smile widens when he nudges his head into the contact. “Good boy.”

He whines again when they pull away, standing up and running hands over the straps and buckles that adorn their stomach and thighs, tugging a few back into place. “Shh, shh,” they murmur, watching as he quiets under the command, before settling back down on the sofa. “That’s it. Such a good boy.”

It’s so easy to lean down and pet his hair, scratch along his jaw and tug his mouth open just a little wider with a thumb on his lip. He’s so malleable for them, floating and liquid under their hands, so beautifully willing.

Humming satisfaction, Lying straightens up, lifting their foot until the heel of their shoe is an inch above Kirin’s mouth and smirking at the way he tilts his chin up towards it. “Patience.”

Kirin makes a soft, needy noise – a quiet keen in the back of his throat – and Lying laughs. “Okay,” they say, lowering their foot until the heel slips inside Kirin’s mouth. “Okay, I’ll stop teasing you. Because I’m nice. I hope you’re very grateful for this.”

They push the heel a little further down, watch as Kirin curls a tongue around it and tries not to drool as he sucks. It always amazes them, how willing Kirin is, how desperate and eager to please in whatever way they want him to. They watch as he sucks at the inch of heel pushed past his lips, tilts his head up to try and take more, sticking his tongue out to lap at it.

“Beautiful,” they murmur, resisting the urge to lick their lips, pushing down gently until their heel meets something soft. They’re not sure whether it’s Kirin’s throat, or maybe the inside of his cheek, but it doesn’t matter either way. He chokes, mouth opening wider and tongue working furiously, trying to squirm away until they let up the pressure, and Lying can’t help but smile. “ _Beautiful_. What a good boy.”

 


End file.
